


A guide to picking up haughty Asgardian princes.

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: FrostIron - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spawned from a simple list of pick up lines to use on Loki that I posted on Tumblr as a joke.<br/>Now in fic-format, for your reading pleasure. Though I have possibly skimped on beta-ing this. Um. Sorry.</p><p>Dedicated to Loki-motives for the title and the ongoing RL Loki-love hotline. Weavercat for saying this should be a fic. I’m still not so sure, but I wrote some shit anyway… ENJOY! OR DON’T!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A guide to picking up haughty Asgardian princes.

 “I bet you’d be an easy lay.”

 

Tony was standing against the control panel of SHIELD’s holding cell aboard the Helicarrier - the “Fishbowl” as they’d all called it - one hand resting against the corner of the unit while he regarded SHEILD’s prisoner with an entirely disaffected expression. Loki stood across from him, arms folded casually behind his back, feet apart. A drill sergeant before his company, Tony half expected him to start barking commands: _Company, ‘tenSHUN,_ or something of the like. Only that wasn’t Loki’s style. Tony could read that much about him without even having to try - he exuded a sort of parasitic sense of expectation which meant that his followers (or minions, Loki would probably call them minions, underlings - _dogs_ ) were probably supposed to anticipate what he wanted and carry out his orders without even the remotest breath of a syllable passing his lips.

 

 _That isn’t leading._ Tony snorted to himself, eyes following the sharp angles of Loki’s expression. _That’s a relationship. The kind that Cosmo insists is real and Baskin and Robbins set their investments on._

 

Steve often stood that way when he wasn’t thinking about it, but Loki wasn’t Steve. Loki wasn’t awaiting orders - even incarcerated in Fury’s Hulk-proofed prison, it still seemed as though he was holding the reins. Tony wet his lips, his eyes not leaving the face of the Asgardian God opposite him. Loki was wearing the echo of a smile, but that was all. Why Tony had come down to play with him remained a mystery even to himself. But when it came to Anthony Stark, mysteries were generally regarded as legitimate plans, and that was, as he professed, how he preferred to work. Bruce dubbed his methods “riding by the seat of his pants”, Steve called them “idiotic, ill-conceived buffoonery”. Tony called Steve a pansy.

 

“Yup. An easy lay. Totally wide open,” he continued, buffing the edge of the panel with his finger. “Seriously. You act tough, but one drink and I bet you’re finished. Ka-put. Slobbering like a doberman before a butchery window. Bet you like the girly drinks too - things with grenadine and fruit. Things with the little plastic mermaids in them and enough straws to build a garage. Things with double entendre names that make you giggle a bit when you ask for them: a slow, comfortable screw against a wall, suck, bang and blow or a screaming orgasm. Guess it really depends on how obvious you want to be.”

 

He was teasing, really. Polishing his words to a high finish before he actually put them into action. Fury’s cell was sound proofed, completely, and the team were ordered to leave the muting system in place while Loki remained on board - just to keep his nose out of their business - so, fundamentally, Tony was performing a rather long and complicated mime. He wondered if that was getting on Loki’s nerves. He rather hoped it was. He took a few steps toward the door, linking his fingers in front of him. Loki did not move, but remained in place - listening to the insults that did not reach his ears with a strangely polite countenance.

 

“You know, I’ll bet that actually worked for you sometimes too - asking for crap like that. Being all “come hither” about it. You’ve got that kind of face, that sort of clean, oiled handsomeness that promises to be a helluva lot of fun if you bring your credit card.” 

 

Loki shifted then, drawing one hand up to tease the edge of his collar, close to the smooth column of his neck. The corner of his mouth was still turning slightly upward - floating a hint of amusement - as if holding onto a single, coloured secret filled with helium. His eyes reflected the bland cell lights in thick patches that robbed much of the detail of his mood. Tony quirked a brow.

 

“Well now, you’ve been going about this invasion thing the wrong way then. You’ve come in all teeth and guns, when really you should have been slipping between sheets. See you’ve got the looks to pull the whole suave bad guy thing. Softens the blow a lot, you know? Instead of all the running around, shouting and being a dickhead, you could have used your charm a bit. I’m sure you’ve got some floating around in that ego of yours, and that’d almost be better than your glow stick of destiny. People don’t really see charm coming, not when you’re good with it - hell, I oughta know. You could be all dolled up in your little outfit, and be like “Oh hey guys! Taking over the world - hope you don’t mind. My date skipped out on me and now I’ve nothing to do on a Saturday night”. And then when hotheads like Fury get up in arms about your suggested world domination, you could sorta loosen those strap thingies a bit and he’d be all: _Mmm, girl... Is all that leather for me?_ ”

 

Tony stepped around the side of the cell, adopting a bit of a swagger as he tapped his fingers against the metal railing that marked the distance from the gangway to the glass. Loki stayed where he was, seemingly uninterested in whatever Stark was up to - which suited Stark just fine as he passed the prisoner's back, taking a long look at where the line of the heavy leather rose and fell over his buttocks. He found himself distinctly disappointed that no one had thought to remove his long coat just to see what was under there.

 

“Thor? Well, we know you’ve got Thor under your thumb - you get so much as a paper cut and he’d come running. All you’d have to do with _him_ is bat your eyelashes and say that you’d _really, really like a world for your birthday and can you have one please?_ Though I guess you’ve also got the whole baby brother thing going on, so you can’t really work the seduction angle... Or can you?”

 

Tony was around the other side of him now, and smirked when Loki seemed to acknowledge the fact that he was being circled. Green eyes, pale with lack of sleep but still as calculating as the day SHIELD dragged him in, cuffed and cowed, followed their warden with guarded amusement.

 

“I don’t know, you Asgardian-types could be like the Ancient Greeks or Romans and just be into everyone’s pants - I’m not judging. Steve would, though. Judge, I mean, not jump into your pants. Hell, you’d need to take a line from Doris Day to get those old pistons firing. Maybe strap yourself into some garters and stockings and fling your legs up in a chorus line, then you _might_ just get him to rattle off a few tried and true: _Are you horny, or is that just your helmet?_ or _Is that your staff, or are you happy to see me?_ ”

 

“Bruce, now... as mild tempered as he seems when he’s not the colour of a ripe gooseberry, still likes to think he’s something with the ladies. Or Loki’s... y’know, since we’re first class in that train of thought here. I know, I know-” Tony gestured as if to respond to Loki’s unspoken protest. “He doesn’t appear to be the type, but trust me. We’ve eaten pizza and watched channels with “x”s in the titles... I can guarantee that if you sunk into his room with a reformation promise and a couple of hugs, he’d let you right under his fuzzy blanket - that’s not a euphemism - and cuddle you until your bones erode. Not that I know any of this from experience.”

 

Tony added the last part as he drew near to the control panel again, sauntering casually back to the podium. He noticed Loki had folded his arms across his chest, but that was about all the movement he’d surrendered. 

 

“Natasha, I wouldn’t bother with. Best to just stay out of her way ‘cause she’d probably just make you wear that sexy muzzle-thing and ride you like a bitch before disposing of your remains quietly in a dumpster in Detroit. Seriously. You _might_ get her to say something like _I’ll kneel, but I like to sixty-nine better._ That would probably require most of the vodka in Russia. Clint? I don’t really know. I get a bit of a repressed high-school jock feeling from him, so he’d probably come back with: I’ll _kneel, but my cock won’t_ or: _SUBJUGATE ME HAAAARD_ while he crushes a beer can on his head.”

 

Tony snickered to himself a little, covering the movement with a subtle stroke of his moustache, when he noticed that Loki had moved closer to the door of his cell and was standing directly before him, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. It appeared he’d suddenly decided to take notice of Stark, for whatever reason, and now Tony had his full attention, which Tony found he didn’t like so much. It wasn’t that he minded an attentive audience - not at all, stealing spotlights was one of his favorite games - less destructive and base than batting letterboxes but generally as annoying. He licked his lips, pulling away from the glare of the phosphorescent headlights boring through his skull and shrugged apathetically.

 

“But, whatever, you know. You kinda wasted it - running in full tilt and bent on world domination, you just came off as a complete asshole. No wonder Fury wanted to pound you a new one.” Tony leaned back against the panel, crossing one foot over the other in an attempt to appear supercilious. “If you’d been a bit more fashionable about it, you know - really worked your crown , because God knows you’ve got the looks for it. No pun intended.”

 

Loki smiled then. A reactionary smile. Either he’d picked up on some cue from Tony’s mannerisms that suggested a break or-

 

“And what would _you_ have said to me, Tony Stark?” Loki asked, smoothly. Amusement greased his words and they hung about in the air like well-lubricated ball bearings. To Tony’s subtle, yet clearly evident shock, Loki’s finger untucked itself from the crook of his elbow and drifted toward the panel Tony was leaning against. When Tony twisted to look at it, he noticed the radial on the sound lock GUI wasn’t actually checked. He could have sworn the last time he’d left it was on, forcing the user to depress the speaker exchange in order to communicate with Loki, which worked more like a walkie-talkie. But it appeared as though someone had been playing with it.

 

“Thor was getting irritable at having to hold that silly button down continuously when he spoke,” Loki went on, cooley. “I simply explained how to navigate that contraption in order to leave the sound on permanently.”

 

“How?”

 

“Why, by the same method _you’d_ used to mute the chamber the moment I walked into the cell.”

 

“You noticed all that?”

 

“Of course,” Loki raised his chin. “I notice everything, Stark. I always do. I was about to correct you, when I found you were divulging some rather interesting, if not wholly patronising information - thus I wondered how well seduction might have actually worked.” 

 

He raised a brow this time, as his hand slid up to trace his neck again - falling slowly to pull at the hidden fastenings on the front of his leathers. Thin fingers ran across his stomach - teasing Tony with the idea of smooth, pale flesh beneath the heavy fabric. His eyes remained locked on Stark’s, half-lidded and heavy with confidence. As Loki’s collar peeled slowly to one side, revealing the sharp line of his clavicle and the smooth, sculpted slope of his chest, Tony found himself licking his lips, but whether nerves or anticipation prompted the response, he couldn’t say.

 

“And thus, I repeat,” Loki breathed, pausing only to run his tongue along the ridges of his teeth in such a way that Tony felt the overwhelming urge to take it into his own mouth to see just what lies tasted like (he imagined raspberries - sour and sweet at the same time). “What would you have said to me?”

 

Tony took a moment to reel his jaw off the floor and gather his combusting libido back into a more manageable state. God, if there weren’t at least half a dozen cameras watching his every move... Well, technically _Loki’s_ every move, but what was currently crossing Tony’s mind did call for both himself and SHIELD’s prisoner to be in pretty close proximity of each other, therefore the security feed would be watching _both_ of their moves and Tony was pretty sure Fury wouldn’t be entirely supportive of the nature of the moves in which he intended to partake. Not at all.

 

“Well,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice even under the scrutiny of Loki’s too-white smile. “I kind of like things to be fair. And since you’re the one who wandered into _my_ house and smashed up _my_ stuff, I guess it’s only fair to ask: Can I tap you with _my_ stick?” He grinned. “Promise it’ll stay charged until we’re done with it.”

 

Loki’s smile was slipperier than a buttered weasel.

 

”Come in here and say that.”

 

_fin._

 

 


End file.
